This prompt was a several months old, but I had to write something for it. Been working on this off and on for a couple months now, but it was a lot of fun!! Original prompt is here!
It was a chilly January night outside in Washington DC, but thankfully the White House was well insulated--not only against potential terrorist attacks, but the cold as well.
Earlier that morning, Barack Obama had been sworn into office as the forty-fourth president of the United States and he and his family were promptly moved into the White House shortly afterwards. The rest of the day had been a blur as the now former President Bush and his wife, Laura Bush, took him, Michelle and the kids on a tour of their new home. It was overwhelming at first, especially considering all the rooms the place had as well as how many people lived and worked in the building. It was only when he stepped into the Oval Office and placed his hands on the smooth, polished wood of the Resolute desk--the same desk that many Presidents before him had also once placed their hands--that he fully grasped the enormity of the situation. He was the President of the United States. The White House truly gave new meaning to the phrase ‘working from home.’
And now, it was late and most everyone within the White House walls was asleep, aside from the numerous Secret Service agents stationed throughout the interior and exterior of the building. Barack glanced at the clock sitting on the desk next to his bed. 12:26 AM glared at him in bright, red numbers. He wasn’t one to have trouble sleeping so he figured it must have been the new job jitters or maybe even the unfamiliar surroundings. He wasn’t in Chicago anymore, after all.
He sat up--being careful not to disturb his wife--and shuffled towards the door. As he stepped out of the master bedroom, he nearly bumped into the Secret Service agent stationed outside the door. “Sir!” The agent said sharply, slightly surprised. He was a younger guy and had an air of uncertainty about him as if it were his first night on the job.
“Sorry, I, uh, couldn’t sleep.” Barack admitted with a fleeting smile. “I’m just going to go down to the kitchen for a quick drink.”
The agent looked alarmed. “Sir, we can get that for you. You only have to ask.”
“No, no.” The President insisted politely. “I can go myself. I shouldn’t be too long.”
The agent bit his bottom lip, obviously conflicted. Barack felt bad about it, but he wasn’t ready to give up his independence just yet. “Ok, you can go. But please, sir, be careful.” the agent cautioned.
“Thank you Agent, uh…”
“Fisher, sir. And remember, we’re all over the place. Just shout if you need us.” Barack nodded gratefully and started down the hall.
The White House kitchen was located all the way at the end of the wing and it took him some trial and error before he finally found it. The kitchen was huge and cold and most of the appliances in the room were made out of shiny stainless steel. Only one of the hanging lamps was on, casting an eerie light into the otherwise dark room. Barack immediately headed for one of the large refrigerators and yanked open the double doors. It was packed full of various fruits produce and he nodded to himself, impressed. Even if he didn’t find something he wanted, all he had to do was tell the kitchen staff and they would order it for him without question. The power he had, however, could only be used in moderation seeing as Michelle wouldn’t approve of him stocking the White House with a bunch of junk food.
He grabbed an apple off the shelf and shut the doors, turning to head back out and look for the bottled water.
“Ah, hi there.”
Barack froze mid step, turning slowly to see a sharply dressed man standing a few feet away, leaning up against a counter. He had a drink in his hand and a small smile on his face. Even in the dimly lit room, his face--and accent for that matter--where undeniably familiar. Barack took a wary step back. “President...Kennedy?”
The man’s grin widened and he stuck his hand out to shake. “It’s an honor to finally meet you. Er, though I suppose we’re a little ahead of schedule here…” he replied.
Barack just stared blankly at the man’s extended hand. Was this some kind of “big presidential secret” that new presidents were let in on once they got elected? That Kennedy was never assassinated and spent his days hanging out in the White House kitchen? But he didn't look a day over 46 and so Barack jumped to the next possible solution. “They, uh, didn't tell me the White House was haunted.”
Obviously not going to get a handshake from the bewildered new president, Kennedy dropped his hand and laughed. “No, no, it’s not don't worry. We definitely have a lot to fill you in on. We weren't supposed to meet here but--"
"Jack! Are you finished yet? Washington'll have our asses if he finds out we left." Another voice interrupted and the two turned to see a very disgruntled looking Richard Nixon stepping into the kitchen. His gaze flickered from Kennedy to Obama and he narrowed his eyes. “Well shit, Washington’s definitely going to kill us now. This is your fault, I need to stop listening to you.”
“When did you ever start?” Kennedy sneered. “The whole Watergate scandal could've been avoided, Dick. If only you'd listened to me and Lincoln’s suggestions and--”
“Oh, how long are you going to hold that over my head!? Don't you think I already feel bad enough having to live with it for all eternity without all of you constantly bickering at me? I swear I probably would've shot myself in the head a long time ago if it would've killed me just to get away from Washington’s nagging.”
Kennedy glowered at him, lifting his hand to touch the back of his head. “Too soon.”
“It’s been almost fifty years Jack! And I'm the one who needs to move on? I don’t think so--”
“Uh, excuse me…” The arguing former presidents turned sharply to look at the confused newer president as he interrupted. “Can someone tell me what the Hell is going on here? I’m dreaming right? I have to be.” Barack looked down at his hands, remembering an old trick that was supposed to tell you whether or not you're dreaming. He counted his fingers and found all ten in place. Shit.
Kennedy frowned, trying to find the right words to explain the situation to the new president. He opened his mouth to speak but Nixon was quicker. “The presidents are all immortal.” he said bluntly.
“Immortal?” Barack echoed.
Kennedy nodded. “You see, ah, the Oath of Office is sort of the ritual that seals your fate. When you speak those words, you become immortalized forever as one of the Presidents of the United States. Even after your serve your terms, you're still called upon to provide help and wisdom when the new president needs it.”
“Immortal...but we all saw you get killed in Dallas...I was just a toddler at the time, but it happened. And you,” he looked to Nixon. “You died of a stroke.”
“That’s just what they tell the public.” Nixon replied with a shrug.
“But I was shot. Got the scars to prove it.” Kennedy chimed in. “I just didn’t die. But we can go over the specifics of all that later.”
That meant that all the other assassinated presidents--Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley--were all alive as well. So were presidents who had been dead for hundreds of years like Washington and Jefferson. That meant he was now immortal too. This was a lot to take in. “And...you all live here? Together?”
“Unfortunately.” Nixon grumbled.
“It’s not so bad, it just gets a little difficult to stay hidden from the staff that aren't cleared to know about us. A few of the older presidents can get away with dressing in modern clothes and going outside and into the city, but those of us with more recognizable faces are doomed to walk the White House grounds forever it seems.”
Barack took a deep breath, unsure of what to think. “I...you have to excuse me--this is just...a lot to take in. I think I should sit down…” he said softly.
Kennedy nodded in understanding. “You should go back to bed. You'll be meeting everyone else bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Submitted June 04, 2015 at 02:15AM by DEFC0NFIVE http://ift.tt/1dMSggo WritingPrompts
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